


Harlequin

by le_chat_vilain



Series: The Joker and the Thief [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Suicide Squad (2016)
Genre: Blood, Blood Exchange, Choking, F/M, Guns, Hitting, Knives, NSFW, Rough Sex, Smut, Violence, Violent Sex, blood letting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-16
Updated: 2015-11-16
Packaged: 2018-05-01 21:14:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5221079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/le_chat_vilain/pseuds/le_chat_vilain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A young thief has an encounter in an alley with the Joker that will change the course of her life forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Harlequin

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this story back in July, and it's ended up like the magic fucking pudding and just keeps getting longer and longer, the girl turned into a fully fledged character all of her own, and if all goes according to plan (LOL) I think it'll wrap up after about 28-29 chapters. As disturbing as it might sound, this is actually a dream that I had consistently around that time for about a month (yes, I probably need Jesus but he and I went our separate ways a looong time ago). It was always the same when I had it, and I thought if I wrote it maybe I could shake it. Turns out it just created a monster really lol
> 
> This is the first thing that I’ve written entirely from the first person perspective, and I probably should have had it beta’d but eh, I’m lazy, so I excuse any tense issues that I’ve failed to properly fix or articulate.
> 
> Soundtrack: Harlequin by Violet Chachki.

I vault over the fence and run as fast as my feet will carry me, thanking God I chose to wear my Chucks and not my Docs. Penguin’s men are slow and stupid, just like he is, but one can never be too careful in Gotham. I dart down an alleyway and begin to slow down, peering over my shoulder to be certain that I’ve finally shaken the thugs that were on my tail.

When I face down the alley again I see him, standing there waving a knife and slowly shaking his head, clicking his tongue like he were scolding a disobedient child. He might have traded the bright purple pinstripes for a more understated violet leather trench, but there was no mistaking The Joker for anyone else in this shithole city. His old tie and vest were gone with a black dress shirt replacing them, the first two buttons left undone revealing the edge of what appeared to be a tattoo on his chest. Deep purple skinny jeans and Chelsea boots rounded out his ensemble, his bright green hair short on the sides and longer and slicked back on top. There was no denying the man knew how to paint a picture.

“Naughty, naughty, stealing from old Mr. Cobblepot like that,” he chides with sarcasm. “What am I going to do with you, sweetheart?”

Now any normal person would be shitting themselves in terror at this point, and the fact that my dominant feeling is simply annoyance should have been the first indication that I’m not exactly normal, not even by Gotham standards. I immediately begin to scout my exit opportunities, spying a fire exit to my left that looks like my best option.

“Really I should thank you, you saved me having to do it myself. Now what do you say you hand that over now and I won’t kill you?” he offers.

“I don’t have time for this,” I mutter with a roll of my eyes and make a dash for the ladder. I manage to get both hands on it and one foot up when I feel his steely grip around my ankle.

“Aww, don’t run off now, you’ll hurt my feelings,” he sneers, and rips me from the ladder, spinning and throwing me across the alley like he’s competing in the Olympic hammer throw. I hit the dumpster with a thud and hear him laugh. It’s a cold cackle, a sound that I’m sure has struck fear into the hearts of many before, and yet I’m not afraid. Now I’m just straight up pissed off.

I am still catching my breath when he hauls me to my feet by my ponytail. Seizing the chance, I kick him with both feet square in the stomach and as hard as I can. He releases my hair and doubles over, groaning and chuckling. I grab him by the head with both hands and move to bring my knee up and hit him in the jaw, but he catches my leg as it makes contact, and flips me onto my back on the concrete. I hit my head on the ground hard, and for a moment everything is out of focus. All I can hear is that laughing.

When I shake off the mental fog, he’s crouching beside me, staring at me and grinning. I feel his fingers on my jaw and he turns my head, forcing me to look at him, a blade pressed to my cheek. It finally dawns on me that this is it, this is how I’m gonna go, at the hands of this whack job like countless others.

Without warning, I laugh, and he raises his brows in surprise.

“You know, you should be careful what you laugh at. People might start to think you’re crazy,” he cautions.

“Well you’d know, wouldn’t you?” I sass back.

Clicking his tongue at me in chastisement again, he presses the blade into my cheek with more force, but not quite enough to break the skin, then leans in close. He smells like nothing I’d ever quite smelt before; blood, leather, cigarettes, and the oddly specific metallic sweetness of silver.

“Oh, I like you,” he purrs in my ear, and with my brain finally regaining its usual speed, I manage to land a right hook to his temple. He falls onto his back and instead of running like a sane person, I move as fast as I can to sit on his chest with my knees pinning his shoulders down. My cheek stings and I realize that as he fell the blade had sliced it, and blood was running down my jawline.

I watch as a single drop falls from my chin to land just shy of his mouth. He licks it off, smirking and groaning at the taste of it, raising an eyebrow at me again.

And still, I’m not scared. Like I’ve mentioned, I’m not exactly normal, but the fact that I find the act seductive will tell you exactly how not normal. Angry at myself for entertaining the thought of turning this throw down adults only, I draw back my fist and lay into him.  Laughing the whole time, he lets me keep pummeling him; there’s nothing stopping him from stopping me, his hands are technically free. I look down at him with exasperation while he cackles, and wonder why on earth he is so content to let me rearrange his face like this.

Suddenly I feel a tug on my ponytail and am yanked sideways, landing on my stomach. Without letting go, he moves behind me and clamps his arm across my chest, hugging me against his body.

“Oh, I really like you. I think I might have to keep you, whaddaya say?” he croons. Then comes the slick warmth of his long tongue on my cheek, licking the blood from my wound. He reaches up and turns my face to his. Just when I think things can’t get any stranger, his lips are on mine, and I can taste my own blood in his kiss. I beg my body to resist because I know nothing good can possibly come of this, but it isn’t long before it betrays me and I reciprocate.

“I think I’m in love!” he declares, and all of a sudden a puff of gas hits me from a canister hidden up his sleeve, and everything goes dark.

I wake up god knows how many hours later on a cot in a cell, in a dingy basement. There’s a dull ache in the back of my head and it takes me a moment to realize that the door of the cell is wide open. I rub my eyes and as everything bleeds into focus I see him wandering around going about his business. The purple coat and finery are gone, and all he wears is a simple pair of grey sweat pants, hung low on his hips. His torso and arms are scattered with a variety of peculiar yet fitting tattoos, and I curse myself for being unable to deny that there was something incredibly sexy about him; in fact, I am finding him far too attractive. He hums an unfamiliar melody as he works cleaning his pistol, standing by a solid yet extremely beat up old billiards table.

He glances at me while he lights a cigarette and I sit up on the cot. He grins at me with a tilt of his head and swaggers over. I stare at his gently defined muscles twitching and rippling underneath his tattoos, and he stops barely two feet in front of me. Procuring a cigarette from his pocket he places it between my lips and lights it for me. I take a calming drag and rest it between my fingers. As I blow out the smoke, he tips my head up so I am facing him, regarding me with what I guess is as close to a concerned face as he’s capable of. His thumb traces the gash on my cheek, and I’m taken aback by the tenderness of the gesture.

“You really should be careful playing with knives, you know,” he remarks, and stoops down to plant a soft kiss on my cut. Was this the same man who last night seemed so hell bent on killing me? My head hurts and now so does my sense of logic because this is absolutely happening in all defiance of it.

“Why are you being nice to me?” I ask as he strolls back over to the table.

“Who said I couldn’t be nice?” he retorts, turning briefly with a hand on his heart, pretending to look hurt at the thought. When I catch myself staring at his ass while he goes back to cleaning his weapon, I know that I have to get out of here; I can feel the pull of my darkness and I have no idea know how much longer I can resist it. Taking a final drag of my cigarette, and rising from the cot, I sneak out of the cell as quietly as I can, lifting a switchblade from an end table on my way to stand behind him.

Clearly aware of my presence he stops what he’s doing and places the gun on the green felt. I look down and realize that all I’m wearing is my underwear and his black shirt, and a whole new concern rears it’s ugly head in my mind.

“What did you do to me?” I demand, flicking open the knife and making sure he hears it.

“Who me?” he questions, raising his hands either side of his head and turning slowly. “Nothing…yet.”

I follow his eyes as they look me up and down and a smirk spreads across his face.

“You had a spectacularly bad psychotic reaction to my gas, hence…that,” he said, gesturing at the cell in the corner of the room. “You actually did quite the number on me, honey.”

His eyes flit to a bandage on his forearm, and I cautiously unwrap it. Underneath is a bite mark, the bruising showing around it already. I examine him more closely and can see the marks coming out on his face from our scuffle; I haven’t looked in a mirror yet but he really looks like he’s come off worse after our initial encounter.

“Was kinda hot, actually,” he states, looking me dead in the eye with a grin before closing the distance between us. I’m so distracted that I don’t even notice him taking the knife right out of my hand. He puts out his cigarette on the edge of the table, and brings the blade across the inside of his thumb, drawing blood. Without hesitation, he smears it across his lips, then across mine, and I try with all my might to resist the urge to taste it.

“Oh, come on now, you seemed to have a taste for it last night,” he goads, mock disappointment on his face. All of this and I’m still not afraid, I’m many things, but afraid isn’t one of them. If I did this, then what would it say about me? I try to fight it, I really do, but I soon let my tongue slip out to lick the blood from my lips. This side of me has always been there, lurking beneath the surface, trapped beneath the ice waiting for someone to bust it out, and he had gone and made a crack. He grins and lets out a low, sinister chuckle, and I find the corners of my lips pulling up to return it.

By this point he’s so close to me that I can feel the warmth radiating from his body. I’m drawn to him, like a magnet, my body practically vibrating, aching to close the remaining distance between us. Everything about him is sucking me in; his body, his voice, his danger, even his terrifying smile. I can’t resist it, and what’s more, I’m not sure I want to.

“There she is,” he says. His free hand reaches up to grip my throat and he pulls me forward into a kiss. He tastes the same way he smells, metallic and smoky, and worse yet he knows what he’s doing. Instinctually I move my hand to hold his wrist, but I can’t summon the will to fight him off. I soon find myself granting access to his tongue, but the voice in the back of my head telling me this was wrong is still nagging me. I bite down on him and he jerks away in shock. He spits blood out onto the floor, and I can’t stifle my laughter.

It rings from my lips sounding almost as deranged as his, and he returns his gaze to me, his expression one of excitement and pleasant surprise. His grip on on my throat tightens and I laugh even louder. The voice in the back of my head has been silenced.

“I knew it,” he cackles, and his lips are on mine again. This time I don’t hold back. I let my hands wind up to twist my fingers in his hair, and he groans into the kiss, spinning us around and shoving my back against the table. His body pressed to mine, I can feel his cock growing hard against my stomach, and I arch back, tugging his hair forcefully and biting his lip as our mouths part.

He watches me as I peer down to the bulge in his pants, smirking and shaking my head, and when I return my eyes to his I jar him with a slap across the face. We both laugh, and he squeezes my throat to lift me and slam me down on the billiard table, making the mistake of letting go of me. I draw my legs up and kick him hard in the chest, sending him flying backwards into the wall.

I sit up on the edge of the table as he stands smirking at me in awe.

“What’s wrong, baby? I thought you wanted to play?” I taunt, beaming at him. For a split second I can scarcely believe the words are mine, but the sight of him flicking open the switchblade and stalking towards me with the look of a predator with it’s prey in sight soon silences my concern. I stretch behind me for the heavy revolver, and as he comes within striking distance, whip him across the face with a sadistic snicker.

He pauses, staring at the floor rubbing his cheek. When he looks back to me he cracks his neck and smiles that trademark maniacal grin that should be sending terror through my body. Instead I’m acutely aware of the growing wetness between my legs, and poke my tongue out at him in challenge. Without hesitation and with his fabled exceptional speed, he slices the inside of my thigh and I wince and close my eyes briefly.

When I open them he’s kneeling before me, and with his icy blue eyes locked on mine, drags his tongue across my skin, lapping up my blood. His lips lock around the gash and he sucks hard, a jolt of exquisite pleasure and pain rippling through my body. When I start to squirm, he sniggers and pushes my legs further apart so that the outside of my knees smack against the edge of the table. I sense the cool sharpness of the blade tickling it’s way up my other thigh before suddenly departing to deal another swift cut to the opposite leg, this time to the soft flesh mere inches from my cunt. Bringing his mouth down on the new wound and repeating his earlier torture he manages to distract me sufficiently so that I fail to notice him slip the knife up the side of my panties to cut them off. In fact, I get so lost in the sweet pain that I don’t notice they’re gone until I feel the chill of metal pressed against my clit.

I snap to and glare down at him, a promise that he will regret it severely if he thinks he can keep that there any longer. He meets my warning with a smug grin and with a subtle shake of his head, he folds the blade and tucks it in his back pocket. He runs the hand back up my leg and brings my knees in to rest on his shoulders. Moving both hands to my waist, he stands and walks us over to the cell.

“You might wanna hold onto something,” he suggests as he shoves my back against the iron. I wrap my hands around the bars and the moment I do his arms snake around my thighs and I feel his tongue lap at my entrance. I arch my back and begin to squirm in his grip as he puts that long tongue to good use, flicking, circling, probing. I begin to whimper and feeling the vibrations of his laugh against me, I start to squirm. He clamps down harder on my legs and digs his fingers into one of the cuts on my thigh while his other hand sneaks up to pinch my nipple. The pain causes me to buck against him and brings me almost to the point of release.

That’s when he stops.

“Oh no, not yet,” he teases, licking his lips. I pout at him and hook my ankles together behind him. Then I start to squeeze. He groans as my grip on him grows tighter, and he digs his fingers in deeper. I can see him struggling to breathe and I giggle before twisting slowly as though I mean to break his neck. He begins to try and writhe free, and I feel a sharp pain followed by a dull, deep ache in my forearm. I let go of the bars and we fall to the floor in a heap.

He’s gasping for air and I sit up and examine the laceration on my arm immediately noticing how deep it is; much too deep to go without stiches. His eyes are closed but when he opens them to look at me it’s with an air of adoration and an awestruck grin. I shake my head at him and sock him in the jaw, and he returns the hit with a laugh and a punch of his own. I straddle his hips and holding my injury over his mouth, squeeze my blood onto his waiting tongue. He drinks it down and moans in appreciation.

I bring the back of my hand across his face then grab him by the jaw and kiss him so hard it’s violent. Whatever concerns I had earlier are long forgotten, as is the last shred of light and decency in my soul. For so long I had clung to hope that somewhere inside I was good, or that I could become good if I tried hard enough. The truth of the matter is that I’m not good, I’m deceptively rotten, like a perfect apple that’s home to a worm. All this time I had been searching for a place in the world of the righteous, when I should have been having fun playing in the land of the unapologetically depraved.

His hand slips into my hair and I can feel him smiling into the kiss, like he’s privy to the revelation in my mind; like he knew it about me this whole time and was just waiting for me to catch up. I hook my feet into the waist of his pants and push them down, feeling his cock slap against my ass when it springs free.

“Are you sure you can handle that, princess?” he asks after yanking my head back by my hair and tearing our lips from each other. I glance over my shoulder and bite my lip with a grin when I look back to him; I’ve never been one to shy from a challenge, even one that big. Slithering back, I drag my tits over his body as I deliver sharp nips to his skin on my way down. He watches me in anticipation, the smile vanished. Instead he looks on slack jawed as I run my hand over the cut on my arm and paint him with blood before leisurely licking it off his shaft. His breath catches in his throat, and I grin, pleased with how malleable he’s become under my touch. I circle his head with my tongue before taking as much of him into my mouth as I can handle, my teeth gently grazing, and he lets out a strangled groan.

I torment him, twisting my head one way and running my tongue the other while he squirms beneath me. When I finally feel his body begin to tense, I take him in his entirety, letting him feel his every inch slide down the back of my throat. Then I withdraw, denying him his moment just as he did to me. Sitting up, I giggle at him and he stares at me in genuine disbelief.

“Awww, someone doesn’t like the taste of his own medicine, huh?” I quip. He sits up and shoots me an ominous grin.

“Come here,” he growls, and wrenches me forward by my neck for a chaste kiss before shoving me back to lie on his legs. Then without warning, he grips my hips and pulls me towards him, mercilessly plunging his dick inside me. I sit up and cry out with the pain and the pleasure of it, and he catches me in his arms, hugging me against him as he moves slowly inside me. My arms wind around his neck and I dig my nails into his back, unable to stop my hips from involuntarily rolling against him. There’s no laughing now, no grinning, just a mess of sweat, blood, and disturbing inhuman sounds; anyone who could have heard would be forgiven for thinking us demons. All things considered, perhaps we are.

I can feel his cock beating on the door of my cervix with every thrust, and soon I’ve torn his back to shreds. He nuzzles at the base of my neck and tugs my head to the side using my hair, before sinking his teeth into my flesh and clamping down with vice like strength. My skin breaks beneath the sharpness, and when he starts to suck I come undone in his restraint. He bites down harder as I thrash and shudder around him and continues to pump into me seeking his own completion.

When he finds it, I feel his cum spill inside me and he unlocks his jaw from my shoulder, throwing his head back with a roar followed by an exhausted and pleased laugh. Collapsing back, he takes me with him on the way so that I come to rest on top of him, his cock still twitching inside me. Our foreheads rest together as we begin to laugh. I flick my tongue out to lap the blood from his lips, and he takes me by the chin and kisses me gingerly. I slide off him to lay on my back by his side, suddenly feeling empty without him filling me. Soon the floor beneath me is slick with the evidence of our fucking, and for a moment we lay there side by side. The silence is only broken by sporadic giggles  and the heaviness of our breathing. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see him move to look at me, and I follow suit, chuckling softly at the confused and satisfied expression on his face.

“I knew it,” he pants with a vindicated smirk. “I knew you were just like me.”


End file.
